


Sanguis Verus

by Laurielove



Category: Victoria (TV)
Genre: Biting, Blood, Blood Drinking, Death, Deeply historically inaccurate events, F/M, Historical Inaccuracy, Killing, Sex, Vampire Sex, Vampires, Victorian, sex in a carriage
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-01-05 20:11:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21214388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laurielove/pseuds/Laurielove
Summary: Victoria, guided by Lord M, explores her new existence as a vampire, but how will he cope when the urges he has fought so hard to suppress are reawakened?A sequel to Redemptor Per Sanguinem.Written for the 2019 Dark Vicbourne Fest on the For the Love of Vicbourne Facebook group.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Redemptor Per Sanguinem](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16426205) by [Laurielove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laurielove/pseuds/Laurielove). 

> This is a sequel to my first Vampire Vicbourne story, Redemptor Per Sanguinem, but you don't have to have read it to be able to read this one. All you need to know is that Lord M is actually a vampire but has fought over the years to suppress his urges. He doesn't feed on humans or kill them any longer, but gets his blood from slaughterhouses.  
He turned Victoria into a vampire at her behest, and they will occasionally feed from each other. They begin this story living a happy life together, newly invigorated by their state of being. Nobody else knows they are vampires, although there are rumours.  


During the summer of 1839, it was remarked how radiant Her Majesty seemed, how attentive to affairs of state, how astute in her dealings with foreign dignitaries, and how generous she was to her court.

In Parliament, it was also noted that the Prime Minister, William Lamb, 2nd Viscount Melbourne, was resolute in his approach to business, eloquent in his Parliamentary discourse, and benevolent in his appointments and pronouncements.

It was agreed that the country was in very good hands indeed.

That the Queen and her Prime Minister both fed on the blood of people and creatures and existed in a state of the undead as vampires was, perhaps fortunately, not public knowledge.

There were whisperings, certainly. There had been for years regarding William Lamb, and when the Queen suddenly seemed to find a new _joie de vivre_, the whisperings extended to the topic of her. But they remained whisperings only, largely contained to court. And William and Victoria were able to go about their daily and – perhaps more significantly – nightly business with no disturbance.

Victoria, still in the early days of her turning, needed human blood. It was essential to embed her vampiric nature. Melbourne watched ardently as she partook of this new wonder. He chose carefully: condemned men for the most part, whose lives were to be ended within the week on the end of the hangman’s noose. She fed voraciously. Oh, how she did. Her bloodlust knew no bounds, and, at the moment of biting, any moral compunction was quashed by her need to drink deeply.

William Lamb restrained himself, denying himself live human feedings, professing that he was content with watching her and feeding off animal blood from the slaughterhouses. 

He would watch from a quiet corner of the cell as she drained the life and blood from convict after convict. She had grown less fussy of late. He had endeavoured to acquire her youthful ones to start with, young men with gleaming eyes and thick hair who had fallen foul of the law due to a lapse of judgement. But Victoria’s desire for blood drove her to demand more and more, and the prisons of the East End were soon emptied of those awaiting hanging. Fortunately, being Prime Minister, it only took a letter here or there to explain away the premature deaths of those condemned to execution.

Melbourne, for his part, had been away from his kind for so long, and, not witnessing the blood lust so apparent in other vampires, had suppressed his longing for warm, fresh blood with remarkable strength. But it made Victoria curious and anxious. Her own needs were all-consuming, her need for blood unquenchable, and she felt his own hunger when he fed from her. But she could not bear the thought of him killing again, not him.

‘You will not feed from a living person as I do?’ she asked one morning after a visit to Horsemonger Lane Prison. They sat to work as usual. She was full and invigorated and wondered why he seemed content merely to watch.

‘I have not for many years, Victoria. I see no need to,’ he asserted.

‘But … my cravings are inexhaustible. Surely you feel the same?’ She looked up from the dispatches.

‘No more. And I can feed from you if my needs are too great.’

She turned from him, her eyes searching for understanding around the room. ‘And I adore that and need that as much as ever. But I find your lack of need for fresh blood hard to comprehend.’

‘Why?’

She stood, coiling herself around him and pulling him down for a deep kiss. When she broke away she searched his eyes. ‘Because my hunger is so extreme, so all-consuming. I must have the blood of living creatures or I feel I shall go mad. I do not understand how you do not feel this way.’

He smiled softly. ‘I have had more practice at suppressing it. But I know all too well the strength of desire for blood in the early days after a turning. And that is why I help you find it.’

‘My darling, you are my salvation.’

The irony of her words was not lost on him and he banished it by kissing her deeply again.

‘Will my need for it diminish?’ she asked as his hands stroked down over her waist to pull her hips in against him.

‘Over time, but you are new and you will require it for a long while to come yet.’

He could not help but kiss over her face and neck. She continued, ‘I long for it, yet I hate myself for it also. And I would hate the thought of you taking a live feed.’

‘I know this. This is why I do not do it.’

She took his head in her hands and guided him up so she could look at him. ‘But when you watch me feeding … do you not envy me?’

He avoided her gaze. ‘Do not ask such things.’

Victoria frowned against his reaction. ‘Then you do.’ She stroked his face, ran her thumb over his cheekbone with ardent hope. ‘But I hate the thought of you killing again. You are still my perfect love, my divine Lord M.’

He gave the slightest scoff. ‘I am a vampire, Victoria … as are you.’

‘But you will not, will you? And neither shall I soon? I need it now, oh you know I do, but as long as you can find me condemned men, men whose lives will end soon no matter what, then my morals can cope, and … oh, it is so wondrous, this life you have given me.’

‘Is it?’

‘Yes, yes, my darling.’ She clasped him to her and they kissed again, long and hard, their bodies pressed so hard together that they would have fused if they could.

‘My love, my William … we must retain our dignity and our morals, please, we can do that, can we not? You have, so nobly.’

‘I have recently, yes.’

‘Then it is possible. When I am no longer new, when my body has adjusted to its new state, I will not need fresh blood from a living being either … and then, all shall be well, and we shall simply live and love forever … is that not so?’

‘That is the intention, my beloved.’

She smiled. ‘Then we shall avow it. I shall only continue feeding on people for the shortest time I can … and you … you shall continue to feed only from blood from the slaughterhouses, and from me. For I will give myself to you whenever I can.’

He stared hard at her, but his face was grave.

‘Promise me,’ she implored him.

‘I will try, Victoria.’

That seemed to be enough for her, and he took her head in his hands and kissed her until doubt was forgotten.

\--xoOox--

It continued. He would take her to prisons and she would feed and feed. He would watch and his fangs would emerge sharp and white and his skin grow tight and his eyes turn red, but he would watch only, and live off her joy and thirst-quenching feasting, for she fed with a hunger he revelled in. Her total abandon to the joy of it, to the seduction, the capture, to the penetration and to the draining and drinking was an intense pleasure to witness in itself. He had given her that, he had taught her, and he allowed himself a surge of pride each time.

Melbourne studied her as she sank into the dark corner of a carriage one night after feeding, her mouth still stained red with blood, streaks of it coating her clothing (they paid the chamber maids well not to comment or question), and he loved her.

But it was stirring in him, he knew that.

Envy.

He envied her the blood which assuaged her hunger and replenished her own veins.

There was one way to take it. He knew.

She opened her eyes and looked at him in the gloom. She read him well.

‘William …’ she murmured, her mouth open, her fangs still out as she thought back to the evening’s feeding. ‘I am replete.’

‘Good.’

She ran a single, lazy finger down his cheek. ‘But, you, my love … are not.’

He did not answer.

She drew in a deep breath and said, ‘I am more than sated and my blood is full and rich due to it. You know what you should do, what you want to do …’

Victoria untied the ribbons at her neck and loosened her collar. He turned away. He had taken from her only last week. It was true that she had fed again since then, but usually their kind should wait at least two weeks before feeding from each other. He hated the thought of weakening her.

‘My darling,’ she said, reaching for his arm and pulling him towards her. He found resistance hard. ‘Drink from me.’ Her neck was bare and she leaned into him. Her soft pale skin gleamed at him as the streetlamps caught it in intermittent flashes. He could see the scars of his previous feeding, most of them pale silvery disks now, but the most recent still red and marked.

‘It should not be now,’ he declared again.

She whined, a pouting sob which made him frown as he knew how hard it was to ignore. He was not the only one who benefited from his feeding on her. Her sexual needs had recently become unquenchable.

‘I want it,’ she sobbed and clawed at his arm again. ‘Oh, I need it, I need you.’

‘Victoria …’ he tried, but barely meant it.

Before he knew it, she had twisted from the seat and moved herself astride him. The jolting of the carriage forced her hard against his groin which barely needed more encouraging as it was.

‘Victoria,’ he said again, a growl of need now. His hesitation, such as it was, was vanquished.

She propped herself up enough to pull her skirts up, scrabbled to undo his placket and release him, and, with a laugh of anticipatory delight, lowered herself immediately onto him.

He swallowed hard. The pleasure of being inside her was almost enough, perhaps he would not need to bite.

Victoria coiled her arms around his neck and moved on him with such slow sensuality that he could simply stare and stare and feel and feel. She was unfeasibly tight, he concluded, and so wet and welcoming that the glove of her body must surely have been made for him.

As she bucked, she gave the littlest sighs and mewls which told of her concentration and delight. And she was his. His infallibility at this point seemed undoubtable.

But …

_Pulse …_

_Beat …_

There it was. He spied it first … the vein in her neck. It was more prominent when she was aroused. And it called to him.

His cock was enthralled, embedded within her, coaxed towards the most cataclysmic climax, but still …

He was hungry. She had feasted, she had drunk and drunk … Why should he not?

She paused briefly in her rolling, rocking motion along him and looked down, gifting him with an inviting smile as she bit her lip. And then, pulling back her gown fully, she bared her neck completely.

‘I know you want it … Of course you do … Feed, feed my darling. You know how I adore it, you know I will take all of you, your pleasure and your pain.’

And he couldn’t not.

His fangs were out. The imperative was unquestionable.

She took hold of his head and guided it to her neck. He grazed over her skin at first, causing her to hiss, until he found the perfect place, and then he bit.

‘Ah!’ she cried out harshly, for he had not hesitated in piercing her flesh instantly. It hurt her. But that cry made his cock jolt and so he bit deeper so that she cried out again. Her fingers clenched on his scalp and she scratched him.

And it flowed.

Blood poured into his mouth and he sucked and sucked. Her blood, sweet and rich and replenishing.

Her little cries of pain soon changed, shifting into whines and moans as the ecstasy of being fed from took hold.

He clung to her, his hands splayed across her back so tight his fingers were clawlike. His fangs embedded themselves deeper, affixed, attached, just as his cock was embedded inside her.

She let out shallow gasps now and ceased moving. So he began, a slow thrust of his hips, just enough for her to know he was there, while he sucked and sucked on her. He could take as much as he wanted, she would not die, she could not, yet she would be significantly weakened.

But she tasted so very, very good. And, by God, she felt glorious.

He was sucking the climax from her, drawing it from her as profoundly as his cock or fingers ever could. And her breathing became rasping and her hands flailed and she came.

Victoria shook on him, her climax so powerful it shuddered through her body. Still he sucked, but his own orgasm took hold quickly and he pulled his mouth off her with the force of it.

As the last of her ecstasy washed over her, its power and the blood loss was too much and she fell forward on him in a faint.

William pulsed out the last of his rapture and clung to her. Blood still dripped from the wounds at her neck, but he was beyond awareness. Victoria rested heavy on him, unconscious. Never had he known such beauty flowing into him, out of him and through him.

He let his head fall back and panted out his bliss. He could feel her blood healing him, filling and recreating him. By God – or whatever guided his fate – he loved her.

But their situation raised a dilemma. He needed to get her into the Palace without detection. Victoria remained unconscious in his arms. He reached for his cane and banged it on the roof, calling up to the driver, ‘Take us to the back of the Palace. Be silent.’

‘Yes, My Lord,’ came the muffled response.

He held her for the remainder of the journey, he stroked her and kissed her. She was out cold, but would recover in time, and what she had given him was everything. But he had needed it and it had tasted so very, very good. Fresh, warm, human blood – how he had missed it.

He remained inside her warm and safe until they arrived back at the Palace, at which point he was compelled to lift her off him and tidy himself. They were let through a side entrance (the carriage was anonymous although marked as Royal property and so passed through unquestioned).

When they stopped, the coachman (the only liveried member of the household staff around) descended and opened the door for him. Melbourne, with the still unconscious Queen in his arms, got out. The coachman’s eyes widened and, at that moment, in his passion, Melbourne revealed his true nature. His eyes reddened, his skin flashed white and taut, and his fangs gleamed. It was only for an instant, but it was enough to terrify anyone into submission.

‘Not a word,’ hissed Melbourne, his voice unearthly in its intent.

The coachman’s silence was assured.

Melbourne bore Victoria through the back passages and dark corridors of the Palace until he reached his own chamber. He would nurse her until dawn and then return her to her own room.

He placed her carefully on his bed and bathed the wounds at her neck. She was deathly pale and her breath shallow. Perhaps he had taken too much, but even then, he felt the goodness of it within him and was satisfied. He had been around long enough to know that she would awaken soon enough.

At around half past four, she stirred. Her delicate eyelashes fluttered and she sucked in a long breath as consciousness returned to her.

He bent and kissed her and she slowly opened her eyes.

‘Oh … oh, I am weak,’ she said, her voice soft and quaking.

‘You will recover,’ he said, stroking her hair back. ‘But rest during the day.’

He hesitated, gazing down at her, and then said, ‘Thank you, my darling.’

She managed a slight smile. ‘Was it good?’

‘It was magnificent.’

‘It was for me too. Such pleasure, such boundless pleasure.’ She stretched out her limbs in remembrance. ‘Are you sated?’

_For_ _now,_ he thought.

‘Yes, my love.’

‘Then we are both content.’

‘You must return to your chamber.’

She frowned against it. ‘Oh, must I? I am so very happy here.’

‘I know … but it must be done.’

She sighed. ‘Very well.’

She was able to walk a little and so, supporting her with infinite tenderness, he guided her back to her chamber, evading detection once again.

There, he dressed her in her night clothes, ensuring the collar concealed her neck wounds, drew the blankets around her, kissed her softly, and left her to drift back to sleep.

When she was roused a few hours later, no one was any the wiser. However, the Queen complained of illness and remained in her bed for the rest of the day. Her appointments were cancelled. Melbourne, on the other hand, was much invigorated and gave a speech in Parliament which had the Members cheering and waving their order papers with a fervour rarely seen.

He liked it greatly.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, I am LOVING writing this. x

In the days that followed Melbourne’s feeding from Victoria, he was euphoric. She recovered quickly, and was herself invigorated to the point where their couplings were the most intense he could remember. But soon enough, she would need fresh blood again. 

They ventured out to more prisons, travelling further afield if necessary. Victoria fed voraciously, and he watched and remembered. It used to be like that for him. How sweet it was, that capitulation of the victim, the knowledge that you would deliver death through pleasure, the seep of dark red liquid into you, the taste of it …

_The taste. _

And when he bit her, fresh from a feeding of her own, his envy was stirred more readily yet. When he tasted her blood, replenished and rich, he recalled the time when he would feast as he needed, taking where he wanted.

_Oh, it was good. _

Everywhere now he sensed it: the beat of blood, the pulse of life. Everyone who moved, everyone who breathed … he could have them. He could quench his increasingly frantic thirst.

He wanted it again.

There was only so much self-deceit he could subdue. He _wanted_. He wanted the thrill of guile and deceit, of lulling the victim into security and acceptance, and of that sweet surrender when their flesh succumbed under his fangs.

He took to walking, long, determined walks through the twisting streets of London. When Victoria was busy with royal duties, when Westminster was quiet, he would walk and walk, cursing his own weakness.

People would pass him, women would turn to him, their eyes bright with the lure of fleshly pleasure and furtive trysts behind hastily closed doors. How easy it once was. How easy it could be again. He saw them. He felt it – their heart beats, the throb of their blood. It was inescapable, pounding in his ears with an insistence which stirred his own depravity.

One night, he found himself at an inn at the docks, far from the prying eyes of Westminster and the Palace. His collar was up, the night was dark. He slunk in a back door and sat in the dimmest corner. Nobody marked him; their own business was so nefarious that backs were turned and eyes averted. He would order a drink. Perhaps his thirst would be a little quenched that way.

A girl approached him, hands on swaying hips, her dark blonde hair piled in unruly locks on her head. She smiled down but he avoided her flirtatious gaze. ‘What can I get you, sir?’

‘Claret.’

She scoffed. ‘You’ll be lucky.’

‘Anything red then.’

‘Not much call for it, but we might have something stashed away. I’ll see what I can do.’

She sashayed away and he was relieved that the pulsating of her blood faded with her departure. He closed his eyes. Wine would have to suffice.

The girl returned soon enough after and placed a glass of red liquid down before him.

‘You’re in luck. Can’t vouch for its quality, mind.’

She hovered while he took his first sip. The wine was sharp and vinegary and made his cheeks shrink. But he needed something. He took another drink. He must have grimaced.

‘You don’t look like you’re enjoying it much,’ she declared with a lilting laugh. ‘I’ll be sure to order in the finest Petrus next time, just for you.’

He lifted his gaze and met with large blue eyes. He couldn’t deny her allure. She was clever, clearly, and he lamented briefly that she was consigned to serving and not studying. She had an open, inquiring face, but knowing enough for there to be a spark in the eyes which he responded to.

‘I cannot deny that I have had better.’

‘I’m sure you have,’ she crooned. ‘Why don’t you let me get you something else then?’

‘What do you suggest?’

‘Depends on what you like … My Lord.’

‘How do you know my title?’

At this she pulled out the stool opposite and sank down onto it. Her breasts, smooth and rounded as they were pushed from her bodice, caught his eye and she knew it.

‘I might be surrounded by drunkards and half-wits … but I keep up with what’s going on in Westminster … Prime Minister.’

He tutted. ‘And here I was thinking I could be anonymous.’

‘Not with me, you can’t, sir.’

‘Well … as you know who I am … I should know who you are.’

She smiled beguilingly. ‘My name’s Abigail, My Lord.’

‘Then good evening to you … Abigail. And William will suffice.’

‘Oh, I’ve seen those cartoons of you and the Queen – you, the little woolly thing trotting behind … Mr William Lamb.’

He scoffed and took another drink, despite the acrid taste. ‘There are worse things.’

‘You like that, do you?’ She leaned in, her voice deepening alluringly. ‘Being at her beck and call? Being her little pet?’

He smirked. ‘How very forward you are, Abigail.’

‘Why not?’

‘You have a tongue on you.’

‘Oh, William … don’t I just …’

He looked at her. Oh, he could have her. He could have a great deal of fun with her even, and in his youth he would have, with no compunction whatsoever. But he would not betray Victoria in that way.

Not in _that_ way.

But his gaze was drawn to the girl opposite.

She had a pretty neck, long and pale. And contained in it …

_Beat. _

_Pulse._

_Beat. _

_Pulse. _

Victoria had had so many after all. So many young men bitten and sucked dry. Surely, just one? Didn’t he _deserve_ it?

Abigail bit her lip and held his gaze.

‘You didn’t come here for the wine, William Lamb.’ She reached across and stroked a single finger along his forefinger. ‘We have rooms upstairs … I’m sure you’d love to see them.’

‘No.’

She scoffed. ‘Oh, come, sweet William, you need a break from all those debates and decisions … you won’t regret it.’

‘Not a room. Outside.’

Her scoff turned into a laugh. ‘Like it dirty, do you? Is that how they breed ‘em in Westminster these days? I can do it however you want. I just thought a fine gentleman like you would like a nice bed to lie down in.’

‘Perhaps I am not a fine gentleman.’

She smirked again. ‘And that’s the best news I’ve had all day.’ Abigail leaned across the table and whispered in his ear, ‘I’ll meet you in the yard in five minutes. It’s just through this door here. No one but me comes round there. No one’ll see. Dark as hell it is, you’ll like that. If you can’t see … you’ll just have to feel.’

He met her eyes. ‘Five minutes.’

And she got up and slipped away from him.

William could scarcely breathe, but there was no turning back. The decision was made. And God, he needed it.

He picked up the glass of wine and, despite its acrid taste, poured the remaining contents rapidly down his throat.

Then, pulling his cloak tight around him, he slipped from the darkness of the corner of the inn to the darkness outside. Abigail was right, the yard was impenetrably gloomy and any windows overlooking it were shuttered or black. He could go about his business unheeded.

She kept to her word and appeared silently and sweetly five minutes later.

Abigail smiled up at him and placed her hands on his abdomen before sliding them slowly up to his shoulders. It was not ineffective. ‘Who would’ve thought it? The Prime Minister himself. And I have to say, the handsomest Prime Minister there could be. Still … I always demand the best.’

‘I’m pleased to hear it.’

And she curled her hands around his neck and pulled him down towards her pliant lips.

He did hesitate, briefly. He had not kissed another since before Victoria. But this was a kiss as a means to an end, no more. Victoria had kissed many of the young men before biting them. He enjoyed looking on. He assumed she would like to watch him now doing similar. He imagined her doing so and met the girl’s lips.

She was soft and tasted of strawberries. He enjoyed it and deepened the kiss.

She gave a little sigh and he enjoyed it more. He held her head and toyed with her tongue. His hand slid down and found a breast. It was smaller than Victoria’s but he liked it greatly. His cock stirred to attention immediately. He could forget himself in her, although conscience would soon get the better of him. He could not countenance infidelity, but was quite happy to suck the blood out of this girl until she was dead.

She moaned against him; he had long been able to make women emit noises of abandon. It was music to his ears, and so he stroked along her waist and rubbed his thumb over her breast. He could feel her nipple tight and prominent through her thin bodice and shift, and when he did that her breath caught and she pushed wantonly against his rigid cock. What did it matter if he eked this out a little before the inevitable? He reached his hand easily inside her ruched top and eased her breast out.

‘You’re a good ‘un, who’d a thought it,’ she sighed and guided his head to her breast. As he was about to kill her, he thought the least he could do was give her some goodness first, and so he let his tongue run idly over the taut nub, eliciting a sigh of unbridled pleasure, before taking it between his lips and sucking concertedly for some time. It sat nicely on his tongue, he could only admit, and she rubbed her fingers slowly over his scalp with a comforting sensuality with which he indulged himself.

One of her hands remained in his hair but her other slid down between his legs. She pressed and rubbed along him and he allowed that, but when her hand started to release him, he knew he should act. There were certain extravagances he would not permit himself. Giving pleasure was one thing, receiving it a betrayal too far. (Although this girl’s blood would be a pleasure beyond reckoning which he would receive, but that he conveniently forgot.)

Melbourne closed his hand around her wrist and moved it away from his cock. Abigail expressed confusion, and he let her tight, damp nipple pop from his mouth and drew himself up again.

‘Sir?’ she queried, a frown of bewilderment on her face. ‘You ain’t got nothing to be ashamed of, let me tell you. I’m surprised you haven’t split your seams. Let me keep you happy.’

‘Oh … you will.’ He cupped her face, a tenderness in advance of what was to come, and stroked with his thumbs. ‘Thank you.’

She frowned again and he moved a hand back to her breast and toyed with the nipple again. She liked that. Her head fell back with a sigh of contentment, and at last he let his head drop to her neck. He kissed it, that was all, soft, warm kisses, little licks and sucks, perhaps the occasional graze of his teeth. (He prided himself on occasions such as this on being able to retain his fangs until they were truly needed).

‘Ohh,’ she purred, twining her fingers through his hair. ‘I like that … I like that … You carry on like that and you’ll get me off just as you’re doing.’

He didn’t doubt it. Just not quite in the way she realised.

He rolled and pinched the nipple between thumb and forefinger until it was as hard as an acorn and, at last, when her sighs had reached a peak of bliss, he gave in to his darkest needs and drew back his lips to let his fangs emerge. Oh, she was soft and pale and giving and her blood pulsed ever harder around her lustful body. It called to him, and why deny himself now? No one would know.

And so, flexing his fingers and pulling her harder into him, he let the tips of his fangs catch her flesh. She would not know what it was at first. She would suspect he was merely grazing her.

She gasped a little. Only a little, barely audibly.

He deepened the bite. His fangs penetrated. He felt that beautiful surrender of skin under them. Christ, it had been so long. Too long.

She gasped again. Louder, but she did not pull back. In fact, she held him tighter upon her. Oh, he would enjoy this.

He bit harder, full penetration.

‘Oww!’ she cried this time: shock and surprise and pain.

He sank them deeper yet and then he sucked.

Her blood flowed.

Sweet, rich, red and warm. _God above, the glory of it!_

He sucked hard and her renewed cry was still pain, but now mingled with surprise and wonder, different to the first.

‘Ohh, what? What is that? It hurts, oh, it hurts!’

But her bewilderment was rapturous. She was adapting; she was curious. She would be feeling it: that paradox of sensation, that shimmering haze between ecstasy and agony. He still had a hand on her breast and soon enough her gasps of pain shifted to mere moans. 

And her blood …

Fresh, young, pure human blood.

At last.

_At last. _

It had been decades. Why had he denied himself? Why had he subdued his inclinations and needs? Victoria sated hers, was it so bad to do the same?

He pulled the girl in against him and sank his fangs yet deeper. He could feel the rising shiver of pleasure building in her. He loved the inevitability of it, how her ending would be met with ecstasy, and how he would bestow both. He had forgotten that gleam power of that kind bestowed.

He pushed her back against the brick wall and braced himself fast with one hand against it, fingers splayed, while he remained affixed to her neck, sucking and drinking the blood from her.

Abigail mewled now, not an unappealing sound. And although her strength was diminishing, she still held onto him. She was adoring it.

Briefly, he considered turning her. She was exactly the type he and Byron would have taken and turned all that time ago.

But, no. He could do without further complication. And the binding tie between them, which would be forged by turning her, was one he could do without.

But, before her death, she would come hard. As a gentleman, if he were nothing else, he would at least ensure that.

He considered touching her sex. He admitted he was curious and wanted to feel the extent of her lust and abandon, but she was clearly more than sated with his attention to her breast and his prolonged feeding from her. And there was Victoria.

Guilt caught him and he bit harder in response, causing a yelp of shocked pain. But it soon settled to moans of pleasure again.

She was nearly gone, he could tell. She was drifting on a plain of euphoric oblivion – enfolded in a hazy gauze between life and death.

And as her blood flowed into him, too much lost to maintain life, but so sweet as to cause pleasure to flow out of her along with it, she came.

She shook on him with the last of her awareness, pleasure shuddering through her with remarkable force seeing as she was nearing her last breath.

And when the last pulse of rapture had gone from her, she slumped in his arms. She was dead.

He continued taking for some time, until she was nearly empty of blood. And at last he stepped back and, barely aware of her corpse, let her drop heavily to the ground.

Melbourne, through deep replenishing gasps of breath, stood tall, lifting his head to the star-filled sky. Stretching out his neck in a snakelike motion, his eyes rolled back in his head and he extended his arms to the sides, palms open like some demonic Christ-figure.

He was triumphant.

Why had he waited? Why had he denied himself? For a moment, he gloried in his own rediscovered narcissism.

At length, after he had let the full effect of her blood seep through him, he glanced down. She lay, quite pale and still, only the two puncture wounds at her neck evidence of any ill effects at all. Blood still seeped from them, but she had little left and it would soon cease. He reached into his coat pocket for the knife he carried with him and carefully cut through the wounds to leave instead a slit in her throat. He reached into her pocket and took the coins he found there. It would seem at first glance to be a common murder for the takings of the inn. The lack of much blood would be a mystery, but the authorities could ponder that one. He had been sufficiently careful to hide himself in the inn, concealed in a dark corner. Abigail had been the only one to engage directly with him. There would be no suspicion.

He wished her a silent farewell – more out of habit than anything; it would not befit a Prime Minister to quit someone without protocol – and left her. It was only when he reached Horse Guards that guilt hit.

And it struck him hard, so hard that he had to double up and brace himself against a lamp post. The London air was thick with fog and putrid to his senses. He closed his eyes and Abigail’s face, wide-eyed, staring, devoid of life, filled his vision.

Melbourne lamented his conscience; it had long been a stumbling point. Byron had taunted him with it at every opportunity. And the thought of that gave him resolution. He would not let that man have any further sway on him. He glanced up, the Palace lights beckoning at the end of the Mall, and walked purposefully back. After washing thoroughly and changing his clothes, he made his way silently to the Queen’s chambers and slipped into bed beside her.

Victoria stirred immediately and turned her head to kiss him.

‘Where have you been? The slaughterhouse?’ she asked.

‘Yes,’ he lied (it was remarkably easy, he found with some surprise). His hand stroked over the delicious dip of her waist and rise of her thigh. After the events of the night, his cock still demanded attention and the feel of her perfect rump pressing itself so willingly against him was impossible to ignore. He hardened immediately and wanted her with every ounce of his being.

‘Hmm,’ she hummed, purring assent as he kissed along her neck and drew a hand around to find her breast.

Abigail’s breasts had been a new and brief delight, but he could never get enough of his lover’s.

She drew her upper leg forward so that he could edge close, and he eased into her. Victoria released a long sigh and breathed out, ‘Yes, oh my love, yes.’

William Lamb would only love her, would only enter her. Even if he fed, even if he devoured others, she was the only one. It would be for her, only for her. She was his all. But being inside her made him reconsider what had happened. Tonight had been foolish. He must not fail her again. As he moved in her now, his need and his love more powerful after his feeding, he knew that.

However, his blood replenished, he had never felt so potent, it cannot be denied. He turned her suddenly onto her front and pulled her up onto her knees. She gasped in surprise as he plunged into her from behind, but he gave her no scope for doubt. Grasping her hips, he moved powerfully in her, determined, brutal to the point of demanding her climax.

It did not take long. She wailed with the strength of it, coming so hard on his cock that he laughed in triumph. His own climax followed immediately, shockingly harsh, robbing him of what sense remained. His seed burst explosively into her, long and hot, and he rejoiced in her taking of it all.

Almost immediately, she slumped forward and he fell from her. Victoria turned onto her back and looked up at him, her eyes wide with surprise.

She opened her mouth to say something but all that emerged was an awed, ‘Dear God …’

‘Sleep,’ he murmured, kissing her softly.

She turned over, pulled the covers over her, and did so.

Melbourne remained awake, staring above him at the canopy.

For a man who had been dead 257 years, he had never felt so alive. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive him his 'infidelity'. But he does it so well. 
> 
> Thanks so much for your comments so far. Keep 'em coming. x


	3. Chapter 3

Melbourne would not tell Victoria he had succumbed to blood lust.

And the next day, with the cold light of dawn and the creep of mist across the lawns, guilt returned.

He decided he would not indulge himself again.

\--xoOox--

The court was moving to Sudeley Castle in Gloucestershire for a few days, to be hosted by Lord and Lady Ashcombe. Melbourne would accompany also. It was a grand but isolated house, away from the wagging tongues of London.

In the days leading up to it, Victoria and he visited the prison once. Yet again, there would be no need for the hangman. William contented himself with a visit to Spitalfields.

He watched her carefully, hoping that perhaps her need for fresh blood would begin to ease. It was nearly eight months since her turning, after all. He tried to recall how long it had taken his nature to so fully embed that he could turn to other sources of sustenance. But then, the need had never arisen – he and Byron had gladly taken their fill from whatever living, pulsing beautiful young people they chose. For years and years and years.

The court prepared to leave London. Victoria was fractious. Her temper did not go unnoticed. William knew why. It had been several days since her visit to the prison. And they were unsure how they would feed when away. He would find a way, he assured her, but her anxiety was clear.

‘What are you doing?’ she snapped at a maid who was packing her green gown. ‘Not that one! I detest it, you know, and will not wear it. And why is the blue damask not on top so it is the least crushed? Have you no sense?’

The maid looked mortified and tears threatened, but Victoria had no patience with her. She paced over and stopped a mere foot from the girl, her eyes flared. If the maid had lifted her head and met the Queen’s eyes (which she of course did not) she would have seen they had turned the strangest shade of red.

Victoria stared at the girl, her breath pounding through her lungs. Her eyes fell to the girl’s neck and her mouth dropped open.

‘Oh, but …’

Just then the door opened and Emma came in. ‘Your Majesty? Is something the matter?’

Victoria squeezed her eyes shut and turned her back on the throbbing veins in the girl’s neck. ‘Get out!’

The girl hurried out and Victoria clasped her arms tight about herself. ‘The girl cannot pack, that is all. Please ensure it is done properly.’

And with that, avoiding the bewildered gaze of Emma Portman, she paced downstairs to where her Prime Minister was attending to letters.

‘The idiocy of those around me!’

‘Ma’am?’

‘Oh, don’t _ma’am_ me now, William! Sometimes I find it so dreadfully patronising!’

That annoyed him. His intention was quite the opposite. She generally adored him calling her ma’am. He cleared his throat and turned back to the letters.

‘Do not ignore me!’ she declared.

‘I am not, Ma’am. I am simply dealing with business.’

‘Again! _Ma’am_! Must I dismiss you too, Lord Melbourne?’

The muscle in his jaw worked fast. ‘I apologise. A habit, no more.’

She approached him. ‘We are away for days! How will I feed? How will I survive?’

He at last turned to her. ‘We will find a way, I told you.’

‘I am hungry again already.’

His brows creased. She was demanding, there was no doubt. ‘So soon?’

‘Is that unusual?’

He pouted a little. ‘Perhaps. Somewhat.’

‘Are you not?’

He swallowed. ‘Victoria … do not ask me.’

For in truth, he was. Desperately. Since feeding on Abigail, his need had been extreme. He thought of little else. The blood of those around him seemed to throb and pulse through his mind until he felt madness creeping up on him.

His only consolation was her. The need to provide for her steadied him and kept him focused. And he had not strayed again. It was only the once, he told himself. Not to be repeated.

And yet …

She searched his eyes. ‘You are hungry. You need blood, I can tell. But I do not think I have enough to give to you at this time.’

‘No. I do not ask that. I am well, Victoria. I am quite content. Do not trouble yourself with me. And I shall provide for you, have no fear.’

She threw herself against him, pressing her cheek against his chest. ‘I yearn … I crave …’

God in heaven, how to deal with this constant reminder of need?

He threw his head back but held her tight against him.

Something would have to give, William Lamb had lived long enough to know that.

\--xoOox--

They left for Sudeley the next day. It was a journey of several hours, broken up with stops along the way.

They reached a village, Tetsworth, and alighted from the carriage. The villagers gawped to see the Queen and her Prime Minister stop for tea.

But it was not tea Victoria needed. She looked pale. She snapped at all, including Melbourne.

‘Perhaps you should rest here a while, Ma’am,’ he asserted, earning a harsh look in return.

‘There are many local people here who may be able to help you,’ he continued.

She looked at him and he cocked an eyebrow, his meaning clear.

‘Yes … yes, perhaps there are.’

‘I will find you a room at the local inn where you can rest a while.’

‘Yes, I think that will be a very good idea indeed.’

And so the local innkeeper was suddenly faced with Her Majesty the Queen requiring a bedchamber. Fortunately, he and his wife ran a good business and the best room was opened for Victoria. She dismissed everyone and closed the door.

‘Ma’am … I shall wait outside,’ declared Emma Portman.

‘You shall not. I wish complete peace and quiet. Clear the corridor. Remain downstairs, all of you.’

She looked to Melbourne. He smiled softly.

Victoria went to the room and, removing her outer clothing, lay silently on the bed, staring above her.

It took him only twenty minutes. There was soon a knock on her door.

She opened it. Outside stood Melbourne and with him a man of about thirty, his hair longer than needed, but with a pleasant face and good enough teeth. Victoria beamed. The man stared back at her, a look of bewildered shock on his face.

‘Your Majesty,’ declared Melbourne, ‘this is Tom. He is travelling through on his way to Bristol. I found him a good conversationalist and thought perhaps you may too.’

‘Oh, how wonderful. Tom, I do so like to meet my subjects on my progressions through the country. Come in. Lord Melbourne, have we wine to offer Tom?’

‘Brandy, Ma’am.’

‘Oh, brandy, better yet. Come in. Sit down, Tom.’

‘Your Majesty …’ he said, playing with his cap.

‘Hmm?’ she hummed, taking his hand and drawing him further into the room.

‘I … I dunno what’s happening.’

‘We’re … chatting … I think that’s the term. Like I said … I do so like to get to know my subjects.’

Melbourne approached with a glass of brandy in one hand and the bottle in the other. He held it out to Tom, who looked at it with surprise.

‘Take it. Drink,’ she asserted.

He did so with initial hesitation, but once the first taste of the fine liquor had dropped onto his taste buds, he finished it rapidly.

‘Another,’ declared the Queen. Melbourne poured. Tom drank.

She laughed. ‘Good?’

He nodded.

‘Yes … very good. Now … Tom … come and sit beside me on the bed.’

She sat and patted the bed beside her.

He swallowed but did as his Queen commanded.

‘Tell me about yourself. Why are you going to Bristol?’

‘To seek work, Ma’am.’

‘You have no job? A strong, handsome man like you?’

‘I were a carpenter, but there were a fire where I was building and I hear there’s much building work to be done in Bristol.’

‘But won’t your family miss you?’

‘Ain’t got no one to miss me, Ma’am.’

‘Oh good.’

He looked surprised.

‘I mean … that makes it easier for you to move around the country.’

‘Aye.’

‘You have lovely eyes,’ she said outright.

He swallowed.

‘And a fine nose.’

He almost laughed at that.

‘And … a very lovely neck. Let me see your neck. Stretch your head back.’

‘I …’

‘Do as your Queen commands,’ said Melbourne.

He let his head fall back so that his neck was fully exposed.

‘Yes … just like that,’ said Victoria, her eyes focused where required.

‘Neatly this time, Your Majesty. No spills, no stains,’ said Melbourne.

‘What does he mean?’ muttered Tom, confused.

‘Oh … you’ll discover,’ said Victoria, and plunged her fangs into his neck.

Tom cried out but was powerless to move. The Queen had him fast. She penetrated deeply and when her other hand dropped to his lap and pressed hard down onto his stirring cock, he would not fight it at all.

She sucked joyously, delighting in the rich blood pouring into her mouth.

Melbourne stood back and watched. He could so easily join in. She would share, would she not? Just a little.

But, with supreme effort, he stood instead, planting his feet, crossing his arms, and watched as his lover let fresh new blood seep into her.

Victoria did as she was told. She fed carefully and slowly. Tom, for his part, benefitted from this gentle approach to death. Her hand remained on his erect cock the entire time and, by the time the end came, he met it with pleasure.

And he fell back on the bed in death.

Victoria stood up and stretched. ‘Thank you. Oh, my darling, he was delicious.’

‘Was he?’ he asked.

She turned to him and paced over. ‘What is the matter?’ she asked, twining her arms around his neck. ‘O taste and see.’ And she leaned up and kissed him.

He kissed back, taking any of the blood which still lingered on her lips. He growled with his own need then pulled back.

‘I need to dispose of the body.’

‘Can you do that?’

‘Of course. And then we should set off again.’

He paced to the bed and picked up the body, slinging it over his shoulder. Then, carefully ensuring there was no one around, he took it down the back stairs and into the nearby woods. Nobody saw. Nobody would notice. One less traveller, that was all.

When he returned, the Queen had washed her face and put her clothes back on.

‘Ready?’ he asked.

She nodded. ‘Yes, I feel quite refreshed.’

He smiled but turned from her.

‘William … what is it?’ she asked, anxious.

‘Do not trouble yourself.’

‘You are hungry too,’ she said.

He could not fully hide his sigh. ‘I will find something when we arrive.’

‘My darling …’

But he had already crossed to the door and opened it. With a sigh of helplessness, Victoria went downstairs and got into the carriage.

They arrived at Sudeley Castle at seven o’clock that evening.

\--xoOox--

William visited a local butcher before it shut and managed to appease his immediate hunger, but he knew all too well that what he had awakened in turning Victoria and witnessing her rapturous feedings could not be contained. His draining of Abigail had given him the taste again. It gnawed away at him, it tormented and hounded him.

Victoria was content in the days following the journey, the blood of Tom, the traveller, sustained her well, although her satisfaction would not last forever.

William Lamb was not content.

After breakfast three days after arriving, they retired to the study, ostensibly to work, but Melbourne sat, a deep sigh heaving from him, and snatched for the morning papers. Victoria stared from the window, a hand clutched to her belly, hunger once again starting to gnaw. A rider arrived as usual with the dispatch box. The footman brought it in.

‘On the bureau, thank you,’ she said. The man nodded and left.

Neither moved towards it. Usually, William would cross swiftly and prepare it for her.

She glanced across at him. He was staring at the paper, his brows knitted. He knew she was looking at him but did not raise his head.

‘William?’

‘Hm?’

‘The dispatches. Shall we attend to them?’

He rubbed a hand over his brow tetchily.

‘You may if you wish.’

‘William?’

‘What?’ His voice had a sharp edge which shocked her.

‘You always prepare them for me.’

‘There is no need. You are quite capable of dealing with them yourself.’

‘So you will simply sit there and please yourself then?’

He didn’t reply.

‘William!’ she demanded. Again, no response.

Then, slowly, he raised his eyes to hers. They were sunken and red rimmed, his skin stretched tight and pale. He did not look well but somehow his pallor only made him more beautiful than ever.

At length he said, quite unfazed by her demand, ‘For the time being.’

She strode over and grabbed the paper, ripping it from his grasp.

‘What has got into you? Why do you speak to me in this way?’

He stood slowly at last and looked down from his impressive height. ‘You know why.’

‘I ...’ She searched his eyes, aware of the truth but needing it voiced.

‘You feel it too,’ he stated.

She knew. ‘You are hungry?’

‘I am.’ He stretched out his neck, his need tightening his sinews.

‘But … you have had blood. The butcher here is most accommodating.’

He shook his head a little with a wry smirk.

‘Why do you think you were so sated after feeding on him?’ he asked.

‘Because he was fresh blood.’ She remembered the deliciousness of it as she had sucked it out of him – warm and fresh and new. Her head fell back and she moaned in recall, running her hand down her neck and over her breasts as if retracing the path of it inside her. ‘Oh God, he was good.’

‘Yes …’ he mused, his eyes fixed on her breasts, ‘you enjoyed him very much. But, yes, Victoria, I am hungry. I am so very hungry. When I watch you feed … my hunger consumes me like a madness.’

‘But … the blood from the butchers?’

He turned away, his fists clenched. ‘It is not enough, Victoria. You … seeing you feed … feeling your life force afterwards, taking your own blood newly replenished after a feeding … you have …’

She rushed over and pressed her hands flush against his chest.

‘What? What have I done?’

‘You have awoken in me things which …’

She searched his eyes, urging him to continue.

‘Things which I thought I had controlled. Which I _had_ controlled for so long.’

She could feel his conflict hot in the hardened muscles under her fingertips. ‘My darling, my love, you will control them again. It is only being here. It is only because we cannot rely on our usual sources. Fight it, my darling. Drink the butcher’s blood. Why, go out into the fields tonight and slaughter a sheep and take that. That will suffice.’

He looked at her with a smirk and brought a hand up to stroke her face.

She let her head fall back and exposed her neck to him.

‘Take from me. I have enough. Bite, drink from me, it will ease you.’

William’s fingers grazed down to her neck and his thumb slid along the pale, smooth line of it, his eyes fixed on her veins. Her eyes closed and her head fell fully back. She longed again for that sweet, painful penetration.

William’s fangs were exposed, his need so great he wanted to roar. He opened his mouth and prepared to sink into her. But as he looked down he noticed the shadows under her own eyes, the paleness of her cheeks, more pale than usual.

_No. _

He stepped back with a stagger. If he fed on her at the moment when her own hunger was beginning to gnaw, it would take her an age to recover. And he could not trust himself to stop, and then what?

Tears formed in her eyes. ‘I offer you myself, William.’

‘You are not ready.’

He turned away, suppressing a roar of desperation.

‘Is it so bad?’ she asked.

He turned only slightly towards her, but could not meet her eyes.

She wrung her hands together. ‘You promised me you would not feed on a living person. Can you still keep to that?’

Quickly, he paced over to the bureau and tore at the box, opening it and throwing documents onto the bureau.

‘The dispatches … Your Majesty … attend to them … please.’

And with that, he paced from the room, slamming the door forcefully behind him.

They passed most of the rest of the day separately, Melbourne taking letters, Victoria with her ladies. It was better that way. She hoped he would avail himself of the local wildlife. She hoped he would bring some back for her.

When the parlour maid came to attend to the fire Victoria found herself staring at the girl. She was a pretty little thing and her blond curls tucked under her bonnet licked the nape of her neck. Victoria liked that. She wanted to touch. She wanted to reach around with her fingers and feel her pulse as it beat sweetly against her –

‘Ma’am? Ma’am!’

She turned blankly to Emma Portman.

‘Ma’am? Shall we take a turn outside?’

Victoria blinked to bring herself back to her surroundings. ‘I … I am a little weary. I think not.’

Emma’s lips pursed in frustration. ‘Very well, Ma’am.’

The parlour maid bowed briefly and left. Victoria looked after her and tried to ignore the gnaw of need.

\--xoOox--

Melbourne could barely attend to the droning of the First Lord of the Treasury who made a big show of being put out at having to venture out so far to see him.

He rattled on about tobacco taxes and coffee duties and Melbourne heard none of it.

He did, however, hear the beating of the man’s heart.

It was inescapable.

It was surrounding him. The room seemed to grow dim. The walls closed in.

_Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud. _

Louder.

_Louder. _

Melbourne’s eyes darted about. There seemed no escape from it. The only way to stop the beating tearing through his head was to put an end to it completely.

He stared at the man, stared at his neck. He had kept himself well. A slim man, his neck was exposed above his cravat and his veins … there. So clear.

Melbourne struggled to draw breath.

He twisted his head away and closed his eyes against it.

‘Melbourne? Are you quite well?’

He looked back at the man, confused. ‘What?’

‘You let out the strangest cry just then. And, dear fellow, I daresay you look a bit peaky.’

‘Do I?’

‘Yes. I noticed it as soon as I arrived but I daresay your pallor has worsened since I was here.’

‘Yes … yes … I am not feeling at my best, I confess. Perhaps I have given you a wasted journey.’

‘Well … dinner is promised, which is at least something. But … there really is no point in pushing this meeting further. We shall look into things when you return to Westminster. Take some rest, Melbourne.’

He bent to pick up his things. But his pulse was still pounding and his heart still beating and Melbourne had a hollowness inside which demanded, demanded …

As Rochester picked up the last of his things, Melbourne walked up to him and extended his hand.

The man looked at him quizzically. There was no need for that at this stage of proceedings. In confusion, he reached out his hand and let Melbourne take it.

Melbourne clasped the man’s hand hard.

Rochester frowned and his face creased into one of discomfort as Melbourne’s grip on him tightened. And he was being pulled in, closer to the Prime Minister.

Melbourne tugged, drawing Rochester in. His fingers tightened so that his nails dug into the tender underside of the man’s wrist. The pulse, pulse, pulse of him ran through his head, consuming him. He glanced down and could see Rochester’s blood pouring through the veins of his neck. So close … so very close.

‘Dear fellow,’ winced Rochester, trying to draw his hand from the unearthly grip Melbourne had on it. Melbourne merely tightened it, now scratching the man. He cried out with pain. ‘Damn it, man, you’re hurting me!’

And Melbourne’s senses returned to him long enough for him to relax his grasp and turn away.

‘Go! I will see you in Westminster. Go!’

Without taking a moment longer to think, Rochester picked up his bag and hurried from the room, shutting the door loudly behind him.

Melbourne stumbled back and braced himself against the wall. His head swam, his mind reeled. He needed blood. He needed it as she had had it, fresh from a living, pulsing human.

He wanted it again, as he had all those years ago, as he had before indulged in for so long.

For too long he had suppressed his natural urges and needs. Why should he continue living such a selfless life?

He needed.

_He wanted. _

The rest of their time at Sudeley passed fortunately swiftly. Melbourne could take only the local wildlife and did so. The farmer the next day cursed the dog who had slain not one but three of his sheep.

As hard as he tried to convince himself otherwise, William Lamb knew it was not enough. His hunger intensified with every moment that passed. Everywhere he turned were people, people full of throbbing, thirst-quenching blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, it's getting harder and harder, isn't it, William? For both of them. 
> 
> The next chapter contains a very very nice extra treat for you. A visual treat. Oh yes. 
> 
> Comments are so much appreciated, thank you. x


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so excited to share this chapter's bonus material - a drawing done for it by the phenomenal Abigail Harding, whose talent has given us A Parliament of Rooks. THANK YOU, Abz!

Melbourne commended himself on his restraint while at Sudeley. He had thought the trip away from London would test him, as indeed it did, but he had passed that test. He had provided for Victoria and refrained from joining her, he had limited himself to animals’ blood, and he had succeeded in depriving neither Lady Ashcombe nor the First Lord of the Treasury of their immortal souls.

He was back in the chamber the next day facing Prime Minister’s questions. Peel was being most recalcitrant. Melbourne sat opposite, arms crossed, eyes fixed on his opponent.

He should have been considering a pithy put down, or a reasoned argument of refutation for Peel’s intractability regarding the new status of Canada, instead he was considering how the Leader of the Opposition tasted.

He sat there, staring, his mouth rising into the slightest grin. But, no, even William Lamb would not dispose of his political ally; the taste, after all, would be unappealingly bitter. But his hunger-induced passion served him well and he stood in response, leaning over the dispatch box with something approaching a sneer.

‘My Right Honourable friend, the Leader of the Opposition, disputes matters with the finesse of a bucolic bloodhound – the intention is there but the enacting of it lugubrious and drooping. He has neither the vocabulary nor the eloquence to follow through. May I suggest Dr Johnson’s estimable tome on the English language as bedtime reading?’

His members behind him erupted in laughter and waved their papers. Melbourne’s grin deepened. Peel scowled.

‘And perhaps when he has understood the purpose of this bill, he could come at me with insight and acuity rather than drooling his way through a blundering attempt at humiliation over this government’s perspicacious and resolute handling of matters in North America!’

Peel scoffed but had nothing further to add. Melbourne’s benches hollered their approval and he stood tall. His fangs tingled, but satisfaction for now had been achieved by the sharpness of his words.

He retired to his study afterwards, pacing through the halls of Westminster with vigour. When he returned to the room the fire had dulled and needed stoking. He rang for someone. The usual maid, a large, wart-ridden woman who had served there for longer than he had been a Member, was absent, and a young woman in her early twenties came in.

Melbourne glanced at her. Pretty. Large dark eyes, blood-rich, full lips ...

She bobbed to him, clearly nervous, and muttered, ‘My Lord.’

He laughed. ‘You don’t have to curtsey to me, girl. I’m not the King.’

She blushed bright red. It was appealing.

He chuckled again. ‘Come now, I am sorry - I have embarrassed you. That was not my intention. Where is Ivy?’

‘She’s got influenza sir, they’ve sent me.’

‘Your name?’

‘Matilda, sir, Tilly for short.’

‘Well, Tilly, I am sure you can stoke a fire.’

She smiled and dropped her head, but stood there as if rooted to the spot with nerves.

‘Well … go on then,’ he said, nodding towards the ever-darkening fireplace.

The girl came to her senses and knelt before the hearth, her back to him, reaching for kindling and the fire irons.

Melbourne watched her. He swallowed hard. What a very pretty thing she was. Her thick locks of hair were pulled into a cap but strands emerged from the back, tickling the nape of her neck. He cocked his head to the side a little and wondered where it would be best to bite. At the join of the shoulder? But that was too far from her sweet mouth. If he approached from behind, unknown to her, and bit higher, he could fully hear her gasp of shock and, as he fed, feel those breaths of bewildered, pained wonder as he held her fast upon his hands and teeth.

He could hear it, her heart. His senses were heightened to the point of animal instinct, and he stood behind his prey now, her anxiety so tangible that he could almost feel it on the air around him.

His fangs pricked, his fingers tightened. Oh God, he wanted. He stretched out his neck, but fixed his eyes on hers.

Melbourne took a step towards her silently and stood looking down, only a mere foot away. She had done her job well and the fire was soon crackling into life again. The girl pushed herself to her feet with a slight satisfied sigh. ‘There, sir, I –‘

She turned and gasped in shock to find the Prime Minister standing suddenly so close behind her.

He smiled down at her, having successfully managed to retract his fangs, although he would not be able to do so for much longer.

‘You have done well. I find myself much warmer already.’

She looked up, unable to move, and smiled shyly. ‘Thank you, sir.’

‘I would much prefer you to serve me from now on.’

‘Oh, sir, I’m sure Ivy will be back before we know it.’

‘Shame,’ he said, his eyes moving rapidly from hers to the pulse at her neck.

She smiled, her nerves melting a little, and she bit her lip. ‘They do say you’re a fine man to serve, sir. Kind and good.’

‘Do they? How generous of them.’ He brought a hand up and took hold of one of the dark curls poking out from her bonnet. He twirled it round his finger, causing her to gasp a little. ‘Sir, I …’

‘Do I frighten you?’

‘No, sir, not frightened, just …’

‘What?’

‘A little surprised, sir.’

‘Do you wish me to stop? I will if you wish it.’ (He would. He did not need to continue this seduction. He could go straight to the feasting, after all.)

She glanced down before turning her large eyes back to his with renewed confidence. ‘Not really, sir. We talk about you, you know.’

‘Oh? That is alarming.’ His thumb was now stroking over her cheek. She pressed against it a little.

‘They say you’re the handsomest Prime Minister there ever was, but not only that, the handsomest man at Westminster by an easy mile.’

He smirked. ‘You flatter me.’

‘It’s the truth, sir. A girl can lose herself in those eyes of yours.’

Perhaps that would help her forget the pain of death, he pondered.

He held her head gently, all the while focused on the place he had decided to bite first, but arousing no suspicion.

‘Oh, sir, will you?’

‘What?’ he murmured.

‘Will you kiss me? Please. I’d like that. I’ll go mad if you don’t.’

‘Go mad, Tilly?’ he smirked. ‘Well … we can’t be having that now, can we?’

And he lowered his head and kissed her. She gave a little whimper and held herself still but ready. Her compliance pleased him and he soothed and stroked her, enjoying it. It reminded him of his early days with Victoria.

He reached behind and tugged off her cap. Tilly stifled a little welp of surprise and he smiled. ‘You have beautiful hair. I wish to see it.’ Melbourne threaded his fingers through her hair and kissed her again, slowly, but deepening it; if complete contentment and relaxation was achieved before the bite, it was generally a more satisfying experience for all concerned.

Tilly reached up and tentatively put her hands on his shoulders. It amused him. He drew back and murmured against her lips, ‘Don’t be shy.’

So she drew her hands further up, curling them about his neck. ‘Good girl,’ he said and returned to her mouth.

But soon enough, his gnawing hunger grew too demanding. His own heart beat pounded in his head, colliding with the throbbing pulse of her own. Christ, he had to have her blood. It called to him, it demanded of him.

But what to do with her? End her life completely? Or …?

Again, as with Abigail, he considered turning her. He could even take her to the Palace. Victoria would like a confidante, would she not? A playmate? Oh, the possibilities. Byron would be so very proud. His fangs could no longer be contained and he dipped his head before she noticed. His hand tightened on one shoulder, his mouth moved to the pulse at her neck. He opened his mouth. She let her head fall back and gave the most succulent little whimper, which stirred his cock deliciously. He opened wider.

And just then there was a knock at the door and a voice from behind it. ‘Prime Minister? A moment of your time.’

He recognised the Chief Whip’s voice all too well. Tilly gasped and tensed. He withdrew his mouth from her neck and spun rapidly around. ‘Damnation,’ he hissed under his breath.

‘A moment,’ he called to the man. He turned partly back to Tilly but not enough to show his red eyes or fangs. ‘Busy yourself at the fire,’ he whispered. ‘And put your cap back on.’

She quickly knelt down and hastily pulled her cap back over her head before reaching for a fire iron and prodding it into the flames.

Melbourne composed himself, pulling down his waistcoat and feeling his fangs retract. He paced to the door and opened it to Sir Thomas Fremantle.

The man glanced immediately over Melbourne’s shoulder and noticed the girl at the fire. He quirked an eyebrow. ‘A tad nippy, Prime Minister?’

‘You could say that,’ replied Melbourne.

Sir Thomas looked at him, his eyes narrowing briefly. ‘Are you feeling alright, Melbourne? You’re very pale. No wonder you need the fire up.’

‘A trifle under the weather.’

‘A trifle too much brandy after your storming performance earlier, I think.’

Melbourne smirked. He’d use it. ‘Perhaps.’

‘Can I have a word about the vote tomorrow?’ Sir Thomas looked at the girl. ‘In strictest privacy.’

Melbourne drew himself up and turned to Tilly. ‘You’ve got that going very well, Tilly, thank you. I think I will insist on you doing so again.’

She stood up, daring to meet his eyes briefly, gifting him with a slight smile, and said, ‘Thank you, sir,’ before slipping out.

The Chief Whip smirked after her. ‘How very toothsome.’

In so many ways, Melbourne thought while cursing the man’s interruption.

Melbourne sat in his chair and sighed. By God, he’d needed blood. If the Chief Whip didn’t hurry, he may find himself drained of his.

‘What about this vote then?’ snapped Melbourne.

‘I’ve done my best, but there’s a chance you’ll lose it. Peel, even for a bucolic bloodhound, is persuasive.’

He rubbed over his eyes. ‘Hell take it all. Why do I even bother, Thomas?’

‘With this place? For the glory, man, what else?’

He scoffed. ‘What glory? There are more … appealing things in life, you know.’

‘Look, be prepared for defeat, that’s all. You know what Peel’s like. He’ll crow about it for a while, then we’ll sneak in an amendment and get it through second time on a nod. It’s late. You’d better run along to the Palace, or Queenie will become most petulant.’

‘I’ll take her petulance over Peel’s any day.’

‘And take it you do, Melbourne, you lucky sod.’

Melbourne shot the man a flinty look. The Prime Minister’s intimacy with the Queen was hardly a secret to those who witnessed the dynamics between them, but the precise nature of it remained unspoken, and, for the most part, entirely unknown. There were rumours of Melbourne’s nature, of course, but only whispers and speculation. No one, after all, dared, let alone presumed to voice these things.

Sir Thomas turned to go. ‘I shall see you in the morning. Perhaps don’t over exert yourself tonight, dear chap, you may need your wits about you tomorrow.’

Melbourne frowned. ‘Good bye, Thomas. I might say the same for you.’

The Chief Whip left and closed the door. William Lamb closed his eyes, his breathing heavy. By God, it hurt, the hunger, the need. It ached and twisted at his gut, seeming to reach up to his very soul, what there was of it. She would have been heavenly, Tilly, and he might have even gifted her with immortality. Although, it would have been the polite thing to ask first, admittedly.

But as he strode out from the Palace of Westminster, he had to block out the incessant pounding of blood through the veins of every person he passed. _God, he needed. God, he hungered_. It had a hold on him and would not be shaken. When he reached the outside, he had to steady himself against a wall before continuing. It was dark and rain was falling as he paced through the glinting streets to the Palace. He barely noticed the rain, so consumed was he by his own need, but it compelled the people of London to pull their collars up and huddle within themselves, fortunately for them, muffling the incessant pulsing of their blood. 

\--xoOox--

Dinner that night back at Buckingham Palace was largely silent. Victoria did not speak, neither did Melbourne.

A new footman was serving, keen to please but inexperienced. He served the wrong wine, he replaced the wrong cutlery and, when his nerves got the better of him, he spilt soup over Emma’s gown.

‘I … I am sorry, Your Grace. I …’

The Queen tutted and the man looked mortified. He was young, no more than twenty she surmised, and had an open face with handsome but innocent features.

‘Your name?’ she inquired of the footman.

He flushed puce. ‘Browning, Your Majesty.’

‘You are new? Your face is unfamiliar.’

‘Yes, Ma’am. I started only last week. I apologise for my clumsiness.’

‘Yes … it must not happen again.’

Penge approached, calmly enraged, and indicated for the man to leave.

He hurried out. Penge remained to apologise.

‘I am sorry for those incidents, Your Majesty, Your Grace, he is on a trial period. A charity case.’

‘A charity case?’

‘An orphan. No family. Trained up from a stable hand at Chatsworth but recommended.’

‘No family?’

‘None. He would have nothing if it weren’t for his job, but … there is no excuse for clumsiness.’

‘Just imagine … no one to miss you when you are gone. How curious.’ Victoria took a sip of wine and glanced at Melbourne. He was deep in thought and didn’t meet her eyes.

Venison was served. Victoria and Melbourne consumed theirs before most people had even had their wine replenished.

Cards were abandoned. The Queen had a headache; she would retire to bed.

Melbourne followed shortly after. He could not risk being surrounded by so much tangible vitality.

He came to her as usual when it was safe, but need had affected them both, and neither was inclined to make love nor even kiss.

They lay on the bed, the humidity of the rainy night consuming them, and tried to sleep. Victoria turned on her side and eventually drifted off. Melbourne did not. He lay, staring at the canopy above him.

He was still so very hungry.

\--xoOox--

She was not sure how much later it was, but something made Victoria wake up. When she had fully come to her senses something compelled her to turn suddenly to the other side of the bed. It was empty.

She sat up. ‘William?’

No response.

‘William?’

He was not in the room.

Victoria was filled with a sense of dread. He could be anywhere of course, but he had been so fractious, so out of sorts for the last few days that she immediately knew something was wrong.

She padded out of bed and, not bothering to put even a robe over her nightgown or slippers on, she took a candle and left her room.

She knew the palace well enough to evade detection, and so she was able to patter through the empty corridors unheeded.

She turned into room after room.

‘William?’

There was no sign. Only hollow emptiness met her behind each door.

She despaired. Had he gone out? Perhaps he had gone to find comfort at a slaughter house again. She hoped so and her heart rate settled somewhat. She was mindful to return to bed. She would not want the questions if she were discovered.

But just as she was about to return, she noticed a dim light emerging from behind the door to below stairs.

Again, her pulse quickened and a shiver caught hold of her.

Reluctantly, but compelled towards it, she walked cautiously over to the door. It was slightly ajar and she tiptoed down the wooden stairs, candle lighting the way, causing strange unearthly shadows to dance on the narrow walls.

The light came from a more distant source but grew brighter as she approached. She reached the bottom of the stairs and turned down the corridor. A glow was coming from a room at the far end, a pantry of some sort, she imagined, far distant.

Why was she so fearful? It could simply be a chambermaid up darning, or a cook preparing pastries for the next day.

She should probably return, but she did not. Her feet led her onwards, closer and closer. She could hear her own heart beating wildly through her head.

And as she approached she heard something. A low rumble, she thought, but coming from a living being, most certainly. And as she drew closer the sound of tearing, of ripping, of gnawing. Perhaps a dog had got in and was scavenging the meats in the larder.

She reached the pantry and stood, the candle poised in her hand, her other held on the door, ready to push it open.

The sound continued, loud, and combined with the tearing sounds came also that low rumble, a growl, but with a rasp, a rasp from a voice she knew all too well.

She pushed the door open and her eyes at last saw what she had feared but denied, suspected but disbelieved.

Lying on the floor of the parlour was the supine figure of the young footman from dinner. Blood pooled around him, a gaping wound ran jagged along the length of his neck, exposing white of bone and ropey sinew. His eyes were rolled back in his head, staring fishlike, lifeless.

And braced above him, one hand knotted in his hair to pull his head back, the other with fingers splayed to expose the flesh on his neck, was Melbourne. His head was down and he fed on the boy.

Feeding was not the term for it. He devoured him.

He sucked and bit and tore at his flesh and blood, dragging it into him with every ounce of desperation he had.

He had not seen her. Despite the creaking of the door as it opened and the shift in light, he was so absorbed in what he was doing that he had not seen her.

Victoria clapped her hand over her mouth and gasped in horror.

‘William!’

At last he stopped and looked up. She stared. Blood poured from his mouth, dripping to the floor. He was coated in it; it covered his face and neck, and his hands were crimson red and gleamed wet in the candlelight.

The Italian silk and cashmere of his clothing bloomed with red stains.

‘William!’ she said again, her mind unable to process more. She braced herself on the wall to stop from tumbling to the floor in anguish.

Slowly, as if drunk from his feeding, which he surely was, William Lamb, vampire, pushed himself to his feet.

‘Victoria,’ he said and wiped his arm lazily across his mouth to clear some of the blood from his lips.

‘What? What in God’s name have you done?’

He stood tall and panted before looking down at the boy. ‘I was hungry.’

‘But … you promised! You promised you would not! You said that I would not have to for much longer. That it was only when I was new that I would have to feed on living humans.’

‘I told you, Victoria,’ his voice darkened and he breathed still deeply. He turned his eyes, red and ferocious, to her. ‘I was _hungry_.’

Now anger raged through her and she rushed to him and pounded him hard with her fist, before scrabbling at his blood-stained clothes and tugging on them as if to shake her despair into him.

‘But … you didn’t … you didn’t _share_.’

He had no response. She looked down at the boy, and even through her shrivelled vampire heart, she ached for him. He had been ripped apart by her lover.

‘But … do you not understand?’ he rasped. ‘It is you who has reawakened this in me. Your passion, your need, your adoration of feeding.’

Her brows creased, but she knew it to be true.

Melbourne stood, blood staining him. ‘Our bond … It’s so strong. I have not succumbed to bloodlust like this since Byron first turned me.’

‘But William … what have you done to him? _What have you done to him?_’

He stared down, his truth now undeniable, his breath still coming in ragged pants. ‘I cannot help myself. I’ve tried so hard. Oh, Victoria, you will be my undoing. This is what we ARE Victoria … We do not rule over life. We are slaves to it, made starved beasts by it.’

‘Not like this, not like this.’ She shook her head through despairing sobs.

‘Yes, yes. Exactly like this! You think this is not what I have been? Nearly 300 years, Victoria. It cannot all be butcher’s blood and fatted calves. It is pain, Victoria, it is hell. Now do you understand why turning you was so hard?’

‘I …’ She looked up at him and now her own hunger reasserted itself. She brought a hand to his face and dragged her fingers over him, not gently, not carefully, almost a clawing of need. She ran her hands over the parts of him coated in blood and with a gasp of longing brought them to her and licked and sucked the blood off eagerly.

Then, moaning in need, she attached herself to him, licking over his blood-soaked skin, sucking it off him as greedily as he himself had been feasting on the boy.

She drew back at length, her own face covered now in blood, and together they looked down at the boy.

‘Have you had your fill?’ she asked him.

He considered briefly lying, restraining himself, but he could not.

‘No.’ He shook his head.

‘Then you must finish it,’ she declared.

He looked at her and read only acceptance, and had to pull her to him and kiss her with such adoration that she almost fell backwards.

Then he dropped to the body again and, while the man’s blood was still warm, Melbourne continued to feed, sucking and sucking and biting and drinking his fill.

Victoria stood and watched him and, after a time, came over, knelt beside him, put her hands on his head, and stroked.

When at last he was sated, when he could take no more blood from the drained corpse, he fell back and rested, panting against the wall, his face and body coated with red.

Then, with a grin almost manic in its intensity, he looked at her and started to chuckle. His laughter rose from him, building in intensity and William Lamb pushed himself to his feet, threw his head back, and roared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, William, are you lost to your bloodlust? 
> 
> Please let Abigail know of your appreciation in the comments. Please don't tag on social media, however, this is a favour she has done for us all. Many thanks. x


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are moving on. 
> 
> This chapter contains two phrases which I read on Twitter a week or so ago and promised myself I'd include in my next chapter. So I have. They were tweeted by a complete twat in a twattish way saying twattish things, but they had a certain hideous charm as isolated phrases. You get bonus points for spotting them.

The body of the palace footman was found in the Thames near Blackfriars the next day. It took a while to identify him. Penge was summoned to do so. He returned gravely to the palace and solemnly informed his staff of the news.

A short while later, he sought an audience with the Queen.

Her Majesty looked on with concern as he approached.

‘Penge? You look most disconsolate. Whatever is the matter?’

‘It’s Browning, Ma’am.’

‘Browning?’

‘The new footman, the one who was a little clumsy at dinner.’

‘Ah yes, well I’m sure with proper tutelage such things will not be repeated.’

‘No, they will not be repeated, Ma’am. He is dead.’

‘Dead?’ She brought a hand to her chest, intending it as a show, but in truth her mouth ran dry and her stomach lurched when reminded of the reality of what had happened.

‘I am afraid to say, Ma’am, yes. I have just been to identify the body. He was in his own clothes but had the Palace laundry marks in them, hence they were able to find out who he was. I was the closest he had to kin, it seems.’

‘Oh, Penge, how perfectly dreadful!’

‘It has been a shock for all the staff, Ma’am. Made more so by the fact that he was badly assaulted.’

‘In what way?’

‘I will spare you the details, Ma’am, but it appears to have been a somewhat frenzied attack, presumably for his money. His purse was missing. And they believe possibly …’ His voice trailed off.

‘What?’

‘Ma’am, I cannot tell you.’

‘Oh do. He worked for me. I should know the poor man’s end.’

Penge cleared his throat and stared ahead. ‘They believe he may have been set upon by an animal afterwards, a fox perhaps.’

‘Oh, the poor man! How perfectly dreadful. And I was so short with him at dinner.’

‘You must not feel remorse for that, Ma’am. You are the last person who is to blame for this.’

Victoria averted her gaze at this point.

‘They are not sure how he ended up in the river, perhaps he stumbled in himself in his last moments, deranged with pain,’ continued Penge.

Victoria closed her eyes.

‘Penge … is there anything I can do?’

‘No, Ma’am, although I am not sure how he is to be buried.’

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, I shall pay for his funeral! We shall give him that, at least!’

Penge nodded. ‘Thank you, Ma’am, you are most generous and kind.’

She swallowed. ‘Very well. Arrange it, if you please.’

‘I shall. I am sorry to have had to impart such gruesome news.’

‘Yes, well, it had to be done.’

The butler turned to leave.

‘Penge! Is the Prime Minister due soon?’

‘At five o’clock, I believe, Ma’am.’

She glanced quickly at the clock. Another hour. ‘Very good, thank you.’

Victoria stood and paced to the window, her breath dragging. She was recently sated and even-tempered, but guilt now assailed her.

When Melbourne at last arrived, she rushed to him, throwing her hands upon him and staring up in anguish.

‘Penge identified the footman’s body. The police have put it down to a knife attack or a fox or some such!’

He brought his hands up along her arms and consoled her with that slight smile of his. ‘Calm yourself. That is perfectly acceptable. Why are you therefore so agitated?’

‘It was a shock to be confronted with it, that is all. I wish it all to remain hidden.’

He stroked her face. ‘You are so very beautiful when impassioned.’

She turned her head away, but he lowered himself to her and kissed along her neck.

‘William … not now …’

‘Always.’

‘I feel such guilt.’

‘You will, but your need and your thirst for life will overcome it.’

‘But … all these deaths …’

‘Victoria … Do not worry yourself with it … It is all in hand.’

Her breast was in his hand now, and his other under her skirt. He returned to her mouth and kissed her slow and deep. His hands worked with the skill of a master, and soon enough he brought her such a delicious orgasm that her anxiety was washed truly away.

\--xoOox--

Inspector Jeremiah Pinckney stared at the body of the Palace footman and tutted.

‘Poor sod. Bloody mess, look at him. And no one to mourn him, despite his high and mighty position. Where’s this one going then?’ He turned in enquiry to his sergeant.

‘We’ve had word from the Palace that a proper funeral is to be arranged,’ the man replied.

Pinckney nodded. ‘Well, that’s something, at least. Any more news on that girl in Wapping?’

‘The one from the inn?’

‘Yes.’

‘No, sir. Looks like a standard cut and run for the takings.’

Pinckney nodded slowly and looked down at the man’s neck, gashed open and ripped.

‘She had a neck wound too, didn’t she?’

‘Yes, sir. Not like this though. They reckon a fox got to him. Hers was just slashed through.’

‘But not much blood, they said?’

‘That’s right.’

The muscle in Pinckney’s jaw worked along with his brain. ‘Same with this one. Hadn’t been in the water long, but even then he’d lost most of his blood hours before. Doesn’t add up, does it? Where’s the blood, sergeant? This one and the girl. Where’s the blood?’

His sergeant shrugged.

‘I think we’ve got a killer on our hands … a killer with a taste for blood.’ He inhaled slowly, his hands deep in his pockets as he continued to stare down at Browning’s body. ‘I think it’s time to ask advice from further afield.’

‘Who from, Inspector?’

‘Oh, I’ve all kinds of curiosities to call on, Sergeant. I’m full of surprises, me. You wait and see.’

And Pinckney paced out.

\--xoOox--

A week passed. Victoria and William had fed enough for them to be full and happy.

Their nights (and parts of their days) were spent in what can only be termed coital bliss. When they had no need to feed, their hunger for each other’s bodies was no less pronounced, more so in fact. But, the imperative to bite was not wholly diminished.

As they sat one night, entwined in each other, him deep inside her, rocking on the bed as she took him, her gasps and whines unceasing, she threw her head down and curled up her lips in a feral statement of intent.

He frowned a little, too lost in his own pleasure to care too much.

But Victoria unfurled her smile and revealed the two sharp tips of her fangs.

She continued to roll along him, milking such intense pleasure from him that he gripped her hips to slow her. She did so, bringing her movements almost to a halt.

‘I want to bite,’ she said.

He let a smirk take him but said no more.

‘Oh, My Lord,’ she purred and bent to kiss him, knowing how he would have to evade her fangs to stop them from catching his tongue and lips. ‘Let me. Your blood is refreshed, is it not?’

‘Victoria … You know I do not demand that.’

‘No … but I do.’

It had been some time since she had drunk from him, and only then it was only a little taste to assuage her curiosity after her turning.

But he read the need in her eyes too well. They had reddened and flared, and her bloodlust, dormant since her last feeding, had suddenly reasserted itself dramatically.

And who was he to deny her? Or himself? For when she sucked from him, his pleasure would know no bounds. He would be feeble in Parliament the next day, but what was a debate on the Corn Laws compared to this?

He reached his hands up and cupped her face tenderly – her face, now blanched with need and tight with longing. He stared into her reddened eyes and kissed over her cheeks.

‘My darling … my love … your need is my need, your hunger my hunger. Take from me. Take and be satisfied.’

And he himself guided her head down to his neck, just above the rise of his shoulder where she could rest her cheek while she fed.

He awaited it, wondering briefly if she had the strength to penetrate him.

She did.

He could not prevent a gasp of his own. But pain of that kind – sharp and piercing and sudden – had long been an opiate to him, and he gloried in it. She had bit him hard and deep and full in one go. She was so firmly attached that his cock surged and he groaned aloud.

She stopped moving on him briefly as blood flowed into her mouth. She let it pour, so much that it trickled from the side of her lips. But then he felt it – the first full suck, drawing his blood from him with such determination that he could feel it dragged through his veins.

Victoria concentrated only on that for some time, and William remained nestled within her while she sucked and sucked, drinking in his blood with more conviction than ever. One hand had curled round the back of his neck, the other was at his waist, as if they were locked in some macabre dance.

She fed for what seemed an age and he was sure she would suck him dry. His pleasure grew, building and stretching and reaching for its end, but neither wished to conclude the coitus. She nuzzled and sucked and fed, little whines of her own pleasure rising in time with each drag of blood into her. For his part, he moaned, a low rasping of ecstasy, animalistic in nature, but he himself was unaware of the sounds emerging. William gripped her, clasping him to her as she fed, his fingers tight on her, claw-like in his need to hold her. Their connection was so intense he could almost have roared, his heart pounded to try to retain the blood it was losing, his flesh quivered under the intensity of their coupling. But even in his dizziness, even as time stopped for him, he was exultant.

But then she started to move again, her mouth still attached, and the unfeasible pleasure her warm body brought to him made his senses return enough to adore it.

She rolled her hips slowly, in lazy undulations, almost rising fully off him before sinking down again, taking the full length of him inside her each time, her quim so tight and wet as to be perfect.

He would not pass out, caution and strength of character would preclude that, but he used his faintness to bring him to a plane of euphoria.

And as he felt the surge of blood on her next suck, and as her quim squeezed his cock so perfectly, he came with an intensity which blinded. He was flying, surely, lifted from the here and now.

She was coming on him too, and her hums and purrs as she rode it out vibrated against the piercings at his neck.

When pleasure had left them both, when they had nothing more to give or take, she withdrew her fangs and pushed herself up. Blood coated her chin, running down her neck and staining her chest red. She stretched her head back and drew in deep gulping breaths, her eyes closed. Then she lifted herself off him and lay back, a bleary smile of complete satisfaction on her face.

He could do no more and let the dizziness, which now assailed him without the benefit of ecstasy, take hold. He fell back onto the pillows and drifted in and out of awareness.

It was Victoria’s turn to nurse. She pulled the covers around him, stroked his damp hair back from his forehead, kissed him softly on the cheek, and bid him sleep.

He did.

\--xoOox--

More days passed. Melbourne – being the well-practised vampire he was – recovered enough to return to Westminster the following afternoon. The Queen was informed of her forthcoming visit to France. She would stay at Versailles and enjoy the best French hospitality at the court of Louis Philippe.

She and William continued to sleep together; barely a day passed when they were not in each other’s company. It was noted, of course, but the authority commanded by them both, both in name and manner, precluded comment, at least perceptibly.

They were careful. Their souls may be barren, their blood may be inhuman, but all else remained. Melbourne knew all too well that he could still fecundate the female if he did not exercise caution. But, ever vigilant, this was something which they both avoided. After all, there were plenty of ways to amuse themselves otherwise.

Two days previously, William had returned late, slipping silently into her room in the early hours. She did not ask, but the coppery tang of blood accompanied him into her bed.

She sat in her drawing room that Wednesday, attending to her embroidery as best she could. William was in attendance and was busying himself with the newspapers, tutting every so often (more a chuckle of amusement, perhaps) as he read an unfavourable comment on his own premiership.

The door opened and Penge entered. ‘Ma’am, there is a gentleman from the Metropolitan Police insisting on an audience, an Inspector Pinckney.’

‘Oh?’ She glanced at Melbourne. He met her eyes briefly. ‘He wishes to see me now?’

‘Yes, Ma’am, he is most insistent. He says it is a matter of utmost significance, of national importance.’

‘I see. Well, in that case, I suppose I should oblige.’

‘Shall I show him in here, Ma’am?’

‘Yes, please do.’

She sat up straight and brushed down her skirts, glancing again at Melbourne, who had put down his paper and now stood.

The inspector was shown in. He was younger than she had anticipated, and had bright eyes which shone with intelligence. She swallowed again.

He approached her and gave a short bow. ‘Your Majesty.’

‘Inspector Pinckney. I understand your need to see me is somewhat urgent.’

‘It is, Ma’am.’

‘You know the Prime Minister, Lord Melbourne?’ she declared.

Pinckney turned to Melbourne and nodded, ‘My Lord.’

Melbourne gave a sharp nod of his own but did not take his eyes off the man.

‘Well, you had better get on and tell me why you’re here,’ she said.

‘Ma’am … there have been some deaths in London recently.’

‘Well, there are deaths in London every day, Inspector.’

‘Killings, Ma’am, murders – we’re sure of it. Unusual murders.’

‘Oh? How do you mean?’

‘There was a young woman, Abigail Porter, a girl who worked in an inn. She was found with her neck cut two weeks ago, and then a man, who you know as he worked here, Ma’am, Thomas Browning, was found in the river. He had been cut up quite badly, including his neck.’

The Queen lowered her gaze. ‘Yes, a terrible, terrible, business. The funeral is very soon.’

Pinckney continued, ‘And just yesterday we found another woman, an Emily Harvey, who ran a market stall, dead in an alleyway, again, her neck slit.’

At this she looked at Melbourne. He did not take his eyes from the inspector.

‘How very awful. Those poor people. But … I do not understand why you have come to me with this. I trust you are doing your job properly in apprehending those responsible for these vile crimes?’

‘Ma’am … the murders, for that is what we must call them … have rather strange similarities.’

‘Oh?’

‘Yes, all of them had slashes to their necks and … in all of them, there was a distinct lack of blood.’

‘Lack of blood?’ Victoria hoped her shallow breathing would be attributed to upset and apprehension.

‘There was very little blood found at the scenes.’

She swallowed again. ‘What explanation do you have for this?’

‘Ma’am … this is a strange case … hence why I am here. I am not entirely sure how to tell you.’

Her heart was beating out of her chest. She looked to Melbourne. He held his arms behind his back but his fists were clenched so tightly his nails dug into the soft flesh at his palms.

‘Well, whatever it is, get it over with, for heaven’s sake!’

‘There are people trained in how to find villains of this nature. People better suited than me.’

‘Villains … of this nature?’

‘Ma’am, you may find this hard to believe, but … I believe we are dealing with someone who likes to drain the blood from his victims. Some people believe these people to be supernatural. Personally, I do not, I just think they’re very … strange … but I have to admit that there are people better qualified to find them.’

‘Them?’

‘Some people call them vampires, Ma’am.’

She laughed out loud. It served her well, as although it was a laugh of horror at hearing what she herself was said aloud, it came across as a laugh of disbelief.

‘Vampires? That is the stuff of fantasy! They are not real!’

‘I highly doubt they are, Ma’am, but someone clearly fancies himself as one and is going around picking out victims one by one.’

‘But you say there are those able to … find them?’

‘Yes, Ma’am … they call themselves vampire hunters. I am here today to tell you that I am fearful enough about this that I have called on their services.’

Melbourne, who had not said a word, now took a sudden step forward.

Victoria blinked thrice in quick succession. ‘You have … what …? Excuse me?’

‘I have called upon some so-called vampire hunters. They believe they are hunting down genuinely paranormal beings – the undead, as they call them.’ Here, he scoffed. ‘But, whatever it is they’re looking for, I can’t deny they have methods which seem to work.’

‘Well … may I commend them, in that case.’ She turned a fractious expression on Melbourne. ‘Lord Melbourne, what say you on this matter?’

Melbourne drew in a long breath through his nose and held himself tall. ‘I am impressed with your initiative, sir.’

‘Thank you, My Lord. I know when it’s best to look further afield for help.’

The Prime Minister’s eyes narrowed. ‘But I am not sure why you feel the need to trouble Her Majesty with this.’

Pinckney turned again to Melbourne and said clearly, ‘Regrettably, sir, I find that these people may start with humble targets, prostitutes, vagabonds, and such, but they soon work their way up to the higher echelons of society. They seem to derive some sort of elevation or affirmation from it. Already this person is seeking out not those at the very bottom, but men and women of some repute.’

‘Are you telling me you fear for my safety?’ asked the Queen.

‘I am telling you that you should be aware what is going on in London, Ma’am.’

Melbourne stepped forward again. ‘And for that we are most grateful.’ He extended his hand towards the door. ‘Thank you for your time, Inspector Pinckney. You need not trouble the Queen further.’

The inspector looked towards the Prime Minister for one moment then turned and bowed to the Queen. ‘Your Majesty, I greatly appreciate being granted the time to speak with you today.’

Victoria clasped her hands before her but nodded tersely. ‘By all means, and we shall be most vigilant, I assure you.’

‘If my officers can be of assistance …’

‘I shall bear that in mind. Thank you, and good bye.’

The man retreated and left.

‘Well,’ breathed out the Queen, ‘that was unexpected.’ She had suddenly grown very warm and picked up a fan with which to cool herself. ‘I wish to talk over this matter with the Prime Minister, please leave us.’

Her ladies looked at each other, then stood and curtsied before leaving Victoria alone with Melbourne.

Once they had gone, the Queen stood quickly and started pacing around the room. ‘Vampire hunters! _Vampire_ _hunters_? Oh, what does this mean, _what does it mean_?’

She received no look from Melbourne, no hug of reassurance. He stood as he had before, staring at a point on the carpet, his fists still clenched behind him.

She rushed to him. ‘Speak to me! Speak to me, my darling, what is it about?’

‘I know these people.’

‘Should we fear them?’

‘I would rather they had not been alerted, it is true.’

‘But will they be able to find us? Will they trace these things to us?’ Panic was set to overwhelm her.

At last he seemed to focus in and turned to look at her. His face softened and his mouth gave the slightest smile. ‘No … I shall not allow that. It is not the first time I have had to evade them.’

‘But do they know you? Do they know what you are?’

‘No, I have not been troubled by them for many decades. My name is different, my appearance altered enough. They will not make the connection unless …’

‘Unless what?’

‘I rouse suspicion. Which I shall not do.’

‘But you need blood.’ Her face grew grave and she spoke with a hint of admonition. ‘You killed again. He mentioned a girl from a market. I could smell fresh blood on you the other night but said nothing. Why did you not tell me this?’

He released a sigh. ‘I did not wish to worry you.’

‘But I understand you need it now. I shall not stop you, my darling. How can I when you provide so well for me?’

He stood and cupped her face, angling it with almost painful adoration, and furrowed his brows but said nothing.

Victoria wished he would speak, needed any hint of reassurance from him. Her world was spinning and out of alignment. It was not supposed to be this way.

‘What? What, my darling?’ she implored.

‘I was wondering what I have done to deserve you.’

She reached up for his kiss and allowed it to soothe away her anxiety.

‘Tell me all will be well,’ she murmured as he grazed along her neck.

‘Hmm,’ he hummed.

‘Are you sure these people will not find us?’

He smiled gently. ‘Do not worry, Victoria.’

‘But we will need to feed again soon. They will be alert to deaths, surely?’

‘And we shall remain one step ahead at all times. I have evaded them for centuries. Do not worry.’

She pressed herself against him and felt the security of his arms enfold her, but soon enough there was a knock at the door.

‘Your Majesty, may I come in?’ It was Emma.

Reluctantly, Victoria and William drew apart and she called, ‘Yes, enter.’

‘Dinner is served soon, Ma’am, and you have guests. You need to change.’

Victoria sighed. ‘Yes, I shall come.’ She turned back to William. ‘You will be at dinner?’

‘Of course,’ he reassured.

‘And stay tonight?’ she whispered.

‘Yes.’

‘I need you with me more than ever … near me and inside me.’

If Emma Portman heard her words, she was too polite to react.

William smiled softly in acknowledgement.

Victoria caught William’s fingers briefly in hers before pulling away and leaving with Emma.

She did not see the smile fade from her Prime Minister’s face as she retreated and an expression of dark distraction capture him instead.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait. Hadn't realised it'd been quite as long as it has. Lockdown etc. Stay safe. xx

Melbourne brooded, and it did not go unnoticed.

‘You were right in that the bill got through in the end, but the next stage will be much harder. Peel is lobbying hard, and I’ve heard he’s worked effectively on the fence sitters. If we don’t swing it, he’ll hit us for six.’

Fremantle waited for a response from the Prime Minister.

‘Melbourne?’

William Lamb glanced up from his stance behind his desk, distracted, almost surprised to find the Chief Whip there. ‘Hm?’

‘The next vote on the criminal justice act; it’s far from guaranteed. We need to pull out all the stops.’

‘Yes, well, by all means …’ He vaguely motioned with his hand.

‘William … this vote is being carefully scrutinised in the press. If it doesn’t go our way, we will be a laughing stock in the eyes of the public, and with the election coming up next year …’

‘Hm, indeed.’

‘My Lord … it will take more than murmured agreement.’ The Chief Whip hesitated again, but got no more from the Prime Minister. ‘William … are you quite alright? You seem most distracted.’

Melbourne inhaled deeply and at last looked at Fremantle. ‘Distracted? Perhaps I am. With everything going on I’m not sleeping as well as perhaps I should.’

Fremantle frowned, a fractious combination of sympathy and frustration. ‘I’m sorry to hear it, old chap, but we do need to get through this in one piece. All hands on deck, what?’

‘Of course. I’ll rally everyone. You do your bit and … I’ll do mine.’ With that Melbourne stood and went to usher the man out. ‘I think that will be all for today, don’t you? I’m due at the Palace.’

Fremantle sniffed out. ‘When are you _not_ due at the Palace, Melbourne?’

Melbourne could only return his slight grin. ‘Do not trouble yourself with the vote, Fremantle. I’ll do what needs to be done.’ Melbourne collected his coat and hat and left the room with the Chief Whip. ‘I shall see you tomorrow.’

‘Very well. And … I hope you sleep better tonight.’

‘I shall try – what more can one do?’ With that he turned and walked down the corridor.

The news about the vampire hunters was deeply unsettling. It was clear that the vampire he had previously been would be unknown to them now in his current role as Prime Minister. If they knew, they would have come for him by now, and he was reassured that he was sufficiently unrecognisable to how he had appeared on the occasions their paths had crossed, but even so, the thought of them closing in on him and Victoria prompted a cold sweat to break out every time he thought of it.

He tried to reassure himself that they would not be searching the halls of Westminster or the corridors of Buckingham Palace, at least not in the first instance, but he determined to limit his activities to places and times where discovery would be even less likely.

The visits to prisons would have to cease and the prison warden who had aided them dealt with. He shuddered. It had been a long time since contemplating murder so readily had been a feature of his life, and yet now, once again, it was becoming so very easy.

He paced along, deep in thought.

It would be helpful too if there were more of their kind, one other at least. One they could confide in and who would help to spread the burden, both of schemes and feeds. In addition, if they had all fed sufficiently, they could delay their next live feeding by drinking from each other.

‘Good evening, My Lord.’

His focus was pulled to the person who’d spoken to him, a striking servant girl with large dark eyes. He recognised her immediately as the girl who’d tended his hearth the other day. It was bold of her to speak to him; he was taken aback but admired her conviction. There was no reason for the Prime Minister to talk to one of the Commons staff in the corridor, but now he stopped and smiled.

‘Tilly, is it not?’

She bobbed a little and bit her lip. ‘Yes, My Lord, that’s right. I’m surprised you remember me.’

He smirked. ‘Oh … of course I remember you. It was, after all, quite a memorable moment we shared, was it not?’

‘Yes, My Lord.’ She smiled. He enjoyed the look in her eyes, it conveyed a sharpness and wit beyond her station. It was effortlessly appealing.

‘Have you been assigned to my room recently? I haven’t seen you.’

‘Once or twice, sir, but you’ve been busy in the chamber or attending to the Queen.’

‘Ah. Well, Her Majesty can be quite demanding.’

‘So I’ve heard, sir.’

‘Have you now?’ He should have reprimanded her for her impertinence but instead found himself chuckling.

Melbourne stepped into her and smiled down. ‘I would very much like you to attend to my study from now on. I am here in the mornings. Perhaps you could arrange your working day so that it fits with me being at my bureau.’

‘I wouldn’t want to disturb your work, sir.’

He held her eyes in his. ‘Perhaps I want you to disturb my work, Tilly.’

‘Tedious is it, sir?’

‘Oh … dreadfully tedious.’

‘Not as bad as mine, I reckon.’

He gave a sympathetic little moue of his mouth. ‘Is it hard working here, Tilly?’

‘Not as hard as some places, I daresay, but it tires me. I find I’m too worn out for my books when I get home.’

‘Books? You read?’

‘Don’t sound so surprised, My Lord. I picked it up quick when I were still at school and haven’t looked back since. A girl’s got to get on in life, after all. I don’t intend to be stoking fires forever, even if it is yours.’

‘You intrigue me, Tilly,’ he smirked. ‘How right you are. We should all do our best to live life to the full.’

‘Oh, that we should, sir. Life has an awful lot to offer if you can find a way through.’

‘More than you know,’ he murmured, appraising the intriguing young woman before him.

‘What was that?’

‘Nothing,’ he smirked, continuing, ‘Well, if you can spare a moment from your literary endeavours, I would very much like you to tend my flames … at least until other opportunities present themselves.’

It was her turn to step in. She turned large eyes up to his and said with focused forwardness, ‘Oh, I’ll do that alright, sir, and if you’re lucky I might even … read to you.’

He chuckled again. He was surprised his fangs hadn’t emerged yet, but his cock had certainly risen to attention. ‘I’d like that very much, Tilly.’

‘Poetry perhaps? What do you like? Keats? Wordsworth? Byron?’

His humour left him. ‘Not Byron.’

The mention of Byron yanked him back to the here and now. He took a step back and swallowed. He could have this girl now … impale her on him, cock and teeth, but he closed his eyes and held back his need.

‘Have I upset you?’ she asked, tremulously.

He looked gently at her. ‘No, no, I am sorry, not at all, but I really must be leaving. The Queen is expecting me.’

‘Oh yes, the Queen. Well, I can tell why she’s so taken with you.’

He sniffed out. ‘Is that what they say?’

‘It’s hardly a secret, sir.’

‘No, I suppose not. She’d like you, you know. And you her.’

‘She always strikes me as being a right moody c … person.’

His eyebrows rose up and a look of panic crossed Tilly’s face. ‘I mean, I would be too, I’m sure, if I had all her business to sort every day. I don’t mean nothing by that, sir. It’s a lot to take on, being monarch and all.’

‘She hardly took it on, rather it was foisted upon her. Do not concern yourself though. I am not offended.’

‘And still, being Queen has its perks. You as Prime Minister being one of them.’ She smirked and let her tongue dampen her lower lip briefly. He noticed.

‘Why don’t you come to the Palace soon,’ he suggested.

She almost spluttered out a laugh. ‘Me? I can’t do that! Whatever for?’

‘To meet Victoria.’

‘Her Majesty, you mean?’ she teased.

‘Yes, of course … Her Majesty.’

‘But what for?’

‘Opportunities.’ He smiled down.

‘I’m quite happy with the opportunity to stoke your flames, for the time being … sir.’

‘Why should you not do both? Let me arrange something. I think you’ll like it, trust me.’

‘Oh sir, I learnt long ago not to trust anything a man tells me, even if he does wear the finest brocade.’

He grinned again, enjoying her wiles. ‘Not even the Prime Minister?’

Tilly bit her lip, leant in and whispered up to him, ‘Especially not the Prime Minister.’ And with that, she turned and continued down the corridor. He had just been played by a servant. And he had very much enjoyed it.

_Opportunities …_

\--xoOox--

Melbourne returned to the Palace shortly after five o’clock. He quickly went into the Queen and took her in his arms. She was as relaxed and sweet faced as she’d been when he’d first met her. A pang of guilt stabbed at him when he thought of what he had made her. But when her soft lips met his he allowed himself to forget the guilt and remembered the need.

She had few women of her own age to speak to at the Palace. Her Ladies were significantly older. Would she not want a companion who could discuss similar matters and share frustrations and desires?

They moved to sit on the divan, his arm around her as she laid along it, her head upon him, and, after taking a preparatory sip of brandy, he said,

‘The other day, after I had the footman … you were dismayed that I had not shared with you.’

‘Was I?’

‘Yes, you expressed that strongly. You wished I had let you take from him too.’

‘I was hungry, yes … and jealous, I suppose.’

He took another sip of brandy and slipped in,

‘Would you like to share?’

Melbourne felt her body shift and she turned her head slightly up to him. ‘How do you mean?’

‘The next time we feast, we could do so together.’

At this she sat up and turned fully to him. ‘From the same body?’

‘Yes.’

He read the curiosity in her eyes, and brought up a hand to tenderly stroke her face.

‘Would it be enough to satisfy us both?’ she asked.

‘Yes, especially if we …’

‘We what?’

He met her questing eyes and smiled softly. ‘We turned them.’

‘What?’ Victoria was shocked, he could tell, but he would persist nonetheless.

‘I have thought long about it. You have never yet turned anyone. It has to happen at some point. It will satisfy you for a long while to come.’

She pushed herself back from him, conflicted by his revelation. ‘But … I … surely I cannot do that!’

‘Of course you can, you are no different to me, Victoria. You are a vampire.’

She threw her head back. ‘Oh God above! When you say that I shudder! Do not call me that!’ Victoria stood and paced in front of him, her little brows furrowed in confusion.

Melbourne stood too, speaking frankly but as gently as he could. ‘It is what you are, Victoria. It is what we both are. It is what I made you. What you asked of me.’

‘But when you say it so starkly …’

He took hold of her to stop her pacing and turned her to face him.

‘Victoria, you have sunk your fangs into the flesh of enough people now to realise this.’

She raised her head slowly and steadied her breathing. He lowered his head to kiss her, and felt her relax again under him. At length, when he moved away from her mouth and let his lips quest down her throat, she said, ‘Tell me about turning.’

‘I would be with you throughout.’

‘Would the person have to drink from me, as I did from you?’

‘Yes.’

‘What if they are not willing?’

‘Then they cannot be turned and they die. We must find someone willing to be turned, someone who understands fully what they are about to enter into.’

‘Someone who wants it …’

‘Yes … as _you_ wanted it.’

‘I remember the need. I remember the longing.’ She sighed as his now exposed fangs grazed her neck.

‘But not only will it strengthen you, it will also give you a companion … a friend.’

‘What?’

‘Someone in whom you can confide, share secrets, share further, from each other, just as we do.’

‘But you are all I want, my heart.’

He drew back a little, more serious. ‘The threat of the vampire hunters has alarmed me, I will confess to you. If we turn somebody, and we can confide in them, this will enable us to spread the feedings and to evade detection.’

‘But who? Who can we find? Do you have someone in mind?’

‘Yes.’

‘Who?’

He swallowed. ‘A girl who serves at the House.’

‘A girl?’

‘You sound surprised.’

‘I am to turn a girl?’

‘Why not? I said you would have a companion.’

‘But turning … it is such an intimate act.’

A vision flashed through his mind of these two beautiful women, naked, their flesh exposed to each other, Victoria’s fangs out, blood … Desire engulfed him so profoundly he was beset with a sudden dizziness. He shook himself out of it, but his conviction was stronger than ever.

‘Come now, Victoria. Flesh is flesh. When we have need, when we hunger, desire becomes blurred, boundaries shift.’

‘You ask this of me from the privileged position of being a man!’

‘Victoria, it is a feeding, that is all.’

‘Is she pretty?’

‘I cannot deny it.’

‘What is her name?’

‘I would rather not say it until you agree to this.’

‘I need to meet her. If I agree to this, and I shall only do so after I have decided I like her, then we must do this properly. I want her to be sure. I want her to be ready. She, presumably, would like to meet me before she agrees for me to suck her blood and surrender her mortal soul to me.’

He smiled. ‘I can bring her tomorrow.’

She sighed again. ‘I will think on it. You are not to act before then.’

His hands moved to her neck again, stroking along it, staring at the points he wished to concentrate on. His fangs still tingled, his cock was as hard as rock. ‘Victoria … I want to make love to you.’

She put up a modicum of resistance, her petulance on show. ‘I am not sure I am willing at this point.’

‘Oh?’

‘No, you have annoyed me.’

‘Don’t be jealous,’ he teased.

‘Of course I’m jealous.’

‘There is no need.’

‘Have you been intimate with this girl?’

‘In what way?’

She gasped. ‘Any way!’

He let his tongue catch his teeth in a gentle reprimand. ‘Victoria … some seduction is often necessary.’

‘How much seduction?’

‘Victoria …’

‘_How much_?’

‘A kiss.’

And she stepped out of his hold and slapped him hard across the face.

He recoiled in shock.

‘Get out,’ she spat.

His cheek stung and he brought up a hand in surprise. He chided himself for his rashness. Perhaps he had been too hasty, but he tried anyway. ‘These things are necessary.’

‘Not for us.’

Melbourne stepped in and stared hard down at her. ‘Yes, for us, _especially_ for us. We need to feed to live, and we need to seduce and charm to feed, you know that. You have done so yourself. You seduced those prisoners, that man on the road to Sudeley. It is a means to an end. It means nothing to the love that overwhelms me every time I see you.’

Her jaw remained set. ‘You speak differently about this girl.’

‘How?’

‘You like her, I can tell. And this is different to the others whom we will never see again. If she is turned by us, she will be bound to us forever.’

‘But she won’t be turned by me. She will be turned by _you_.’

Victoria did not respond.

‘And so the bond will be betwixt the two of you, not me. It is _you_ to whom she will be devoted, _you_ whom she will adore.’

‘But you said we would share. That was the word you used – share.’

‘My darling, it can be glorious, the most intense pleasure, the most intense sensations … Remember that feeling, remember the longing and the need …’

He dared again come up behind her and curled his arms around her waist. His head dropped to the soft skin on her shoulder and he nuzzled along it once more. He sensed her growing acceptance.

‘When I turn her, what will you be doing?’

‘I will watch.’

‘Is that all?’

‘If you want.’

She let him continue to kiss along her neck and bared it for him, considering it all.

‘Are you picturing it?’ he murmured.

‘Yes.’

‘Is it good?’

‘… Yes.’

‘It shall be, my love … very, _very_ good.’

‘I wish to meet her first.’

‘Of course.’

‘Now …’ She reached up and curled a hand around the back of his neck to hold her to him. ‘I think you said something about making love …’

He had. And so he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there we are. Hopefully not too long for the next one. Let me know your thoughts. x


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